


Vague

by LeedleLee



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, No Specific Gender, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i suck with tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeedleLee/pseuds/LeedleLee
Summary: Love is mostly made up out of patience. You've shown a lot through the years.





	Vague

Your lover is a sad man. You love him anyway, even as this isn’t the first night he’s slumped over drunk as you lean over him. He’s slurring and drool drips from his lips as you tip up his chin, his glasses hanging low on the arch of his nose. 

With the angle you can see those eyes, a dead blue, and if you let your eyes unfocus enough they look the same as when he was a different man, a smile and a laugh and a love affair with the sun. Another life, that was, maybe even another world, universe. You can almost just remember how it felt, the gentle friendship with the moon and the chilled air and the burn in your throat. Tinted cheeks and callused hands and the salt in the air, a here’s to you!, the eagerness in the air. 

And now, with lines around your eyes and the skin of your cheeks losing their colour and a bit looser, you brush his hair back with your fingers. You remember, even if he doesn’t want to. You remember the accident and the shift. The tears he tried to hide, the way he would swing at anyone trying to help him. He missed most, though, as they all knew to get out of the way. You remember when he landed a punch to your ripcage once as you moved to pick him up and set him in a wheelchair, the purple welt that grew in no time at all, and the way he wailed after everyone had gone to bed and you sat by his bed, begging your forgiveness. You knew how he felt was true. You gave it to him.

His personality became stone then. You two entered into a new life, more anger and resentment but god, everything felt so similiar. You would watch him, how he haunched over desks and gave information to a dead man, at his personal desk over tables and pie charts and numbers. He seethed at the strangest times, often trashing his office and turning his back on you as you collected the papers, telling him this is okay, it’s alright, we can try again and again and again, try to appease to the gods and beg lady luck for a moment of her attention, become stronger and build god’s body in the form of a hundred Diamond Dogs. That you’ll do everything you can. You won’t stop. He wouldn’t dignify you with an answer. Maybe he didn’t even hear you, away in his thoughts and dreams and fears. That night he would pull you closer with his arm, press his lips to your hairline, and whisper a thank you for your faith.

But that’s what love is, you see. It’s the ache and the lonliness, a weight pressed so hard into your shoulders that they’ve gone numb, a tightness in your throat that you can’t release. It will drive you mad. You’ll want to scream, to break glass and tear your hair out and revel in the feeling of a punch to the gut. To run full speed through the storm and come out on the other side with skinned knees and busted lips. 

Then wait, because now is the calm before the next storm, and when he leans into your shoulder with a sigh and you see his eyes with such vulnerability, you’ll want to do it all over again for a moment like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider commissioning me :") ♡


End file.
